


Grade Five's Massacre

by EmmaLennyEddie



Category: Fanboy & Chum Chum (Cartoon)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Mufflin gets his comeuppance, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Torture, Trauma, best friends helping each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaLennyEddie/pseuds/EmmaLennyEddie
Summary: *warning: read the tags*Day after day, Mr. Mufflin deals with the constant stress of losing control of his classroom. Deeming Fanboy the root of his problems, he decides to give him the cruelest punishment after class ends.*Originally posted on Fanfiction.net January 13, 2014.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

Autumn, 2:45. The Galaxy Hills's school district students clambered down the front steps, gossiping amongst themselves as they took off to after-school activities. Inside, the 5th graders were almost tripping over one another, scrambling to get home and play.

Mr. Mufflin, the middle-aged, cockeyed teacher of the bunch, sat with his forehead glued to his desk, as aching to kick his students out as much as they yearned to leave.

Finally, the bell rang, and the students (except two) all took off like bullets, leaving the classroom eerily quiet. Mr. Mufflin forced himself to eye his troubled students: Fanboy and Chum Chum, the dynamic nuisances, with their silly neon costumes and harbingers of chaos.

Mr. Mufflin was sure that it was their mission to stress him to death, and although they hadn't succeeded, he wasn't sure his heart could take much more of their antics. They were well-meaning kids at heart but didn't see their teacher as an authority figure that ought to be respected, and Mr. Mufflin was sick of it.

"Purple Kid," he growled. The two boys in the back of the class cowered and hugged each other nervously at the grim tone of their teacher's voice. "Come up to the front. Talking-Racoon," he addressed the younger boy, "go home."

"Go on, I got this," Fanboy assured Chum Chum, who nodded warily and plodded out the door. 

"I'll wait outside for you, Fanboy," the sidekick promised. The super-fan watched his best friend go with a rueful grin and braced himself for the long tirade that was sure to spout from his teacher's mouth.

Keeping his temper in check, Mr. Mufflin beckoned with a "come hither" motion for Fanboy to sit in the smaller seat next to his desk.

For once, Fanboy obediently shuffled over, gloved hands clasped behind his back in a mock timid stance. He sat and crossed his legs out of habit and flashed a nervous smile. In return, Mr. Mufflin shot the boy a look so terrible that he flinched, the smile lessening.

"I gave you three chances," Mr. Mufflin snarled at his student while holding up three fingers for emphasis. He paused to let that sink in.

Fanboy rubbed the back of his neck and gave an uneasy laugh. "Aha... I-I was just…" He held his tongue when Mr. Mufflin leaned forward, the tension palpable, and Fanboy knew he was in for it.

"There are no more excuses you can give me," the man growled, gripping each side of the small desk, "that will ever validate your behavior. Every day, you and your chum make my life miserable, in my classroom, no less!" He leaned in another inch, his grips tightening on the desk. He jerked his head to the wastebasket, which was overflowing with discarded papers. "Passing notes? Again? Haven't you kids realized how juvenile that is?"

"Well, they were private affairs," Fanboy supplied as if that could reason away the act. "I mean, it's not like I could say my crush's name aloud, so a note seemed like the next best thing to inform the young ward!" He paused. "Then again, written evidence could be darning."

Mr. Mufflin's gaze narrowed, his lip curling. "You really think you're funny, don't you?"

Fanboy's half-smile fell as he realized that humor wasn't going to ease the man's temper. He resolved to sit quietly for now until he could figure out how much in trouble he was.

Mr. Mufflin went on, "I was planning to punish both of you, but now I see the real problem isn't him. It's **you**."

Fanboy's throat went dry, the guilt of dragging his best friend into this coupling with immense shame. The last thing he wanted was to anger his teacher and was often worried that Mr. Mufflin didn't like him, but as of now, it didn't seem like his reputation with Mr. Mufflin was improving.

"You manipulate. You plan. You instigate. You disrupt!" Fanboy sank low into his seat. "You have the easiest job: sit down, be quiet, and pay attention! A monkey could do that. Why can't you ?"

Fanboy had never seen his teacher this angry. This lecture was more than about passing notes, and instead was the culmination of every single stressful moment Mr. Mufflin endured mounted into one significant faction. The most he could do was try to calm the man down. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything useful to say.

"I-I don't know. It's just that—all my friends are there, sitting together, and I like talking to them—"

"Exactly! You think it's alright to disrupt class!" He jabbed a finger in the boy's face, which flinched in fear. "I've taught hundreds of kids over the years, and not one of them was as disrespectful as yourself, you lousy-!" He paused to slam an open palm to the small desk's surface, causing the boy to jump.

There was a short silence in which the two became acutely aware of the buzzing of gnats in the lights and the hum of AC billowing cold air.

Fanboy was struck dumb. He stared at the reddening hand lying on the desk, a fleeting worry about that hand hitting him, causing real fear to seep into his mind. He was confident that Mr. Mufflin wouldn't hurt him, not in a million years, and yet he dared not move, lest he angered the teacher more and tempt that impossibility. "I-I'm sorry," he whispered to break the uneasy silence.

Mr. Mufflin's lips twitched as he leaned down close to Fanboy's ear. "No, you're not."

The pit in Fanboy's stomach grew. He opened his mouth to stand by his word, but no words came out.

"And even if you are, you'll turn right back around and wreak havoc if I let you off with another warning."

Fanboy blinked cluelessly but chose not to voice his confusion.

"It's time for your punishment."

Fanboy slumped. Darn it. He hated after-school work, but the bit of normality amid Mr. Mufflin's strange tirade gave him the courage to tilt his head up and ask, "Am I going to write one-hundred sentences on the blackboard?"

"No."

"O-Oh. Are ya gonna make me scrape gum off the desks?"

"Cheech finished that yesterday."

"Oh, yeah! Then what do I-?" Fanboy stopped short and yelped. Mr. Mufflin was digging his fingernails into his thin shoulder. "O-Ow!"

"In the years I've put up with your antics, not once have you changed your behavior for the better," Mr. Mufflin gnarred in his ear. "To the day, you've just been getting worse. It's time for you to get your comeuppance."

Fanboy was shocked. He was used to being chewed out, scolded, or even yelled at by adults, but this was different. His teacher's hand gripping his shoulder and low tone of voice felt sinister, causing the tendrils of danger slowly gripped at the corners of his mind. It wasn't the same fear Boog, the town bully, gave him.

Mr. Mufflin was his teacher! A supposedly monotonous husk with no real plans outside of his future retirement, now inhabited by a very corrupt persona. Fanboy gradually inched his focus to the wooden classroom door and wondered if he could run for it. Before he could even try, Mr. Mufflin got up and locked it. Fanboy felt the pit in his stomach churn with dread at the click of the lock. Without an ounce of compassion, the teacher scowled at the boy and advanced.

"I said I was sorry!" Fanboy whimpered desperately, bringing his knees up to his face to hide his tears. He was past frightened now. Mr. Mufflin stepped over to the boy, gripped the shell of his large ear, and started yanking him to the back of the classroom—to the Shunning Cave.

All the while, Fanboy rambled. "No! Wait! Mr. Mufflin! I apologized! Why are you—? No! NO! STOP! LET GO OF ME! HELP!" His cries echoed about the cave the longer they traveled and grew louder when Mr. Mufflin slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Fanboy shrieked and tried to throw himself off, but to no avail. While he struggled, disturbing memories of his time in the cave came crashing back: the isolation, the tears, the shunning, and the temporary loss of sanity. Nothing good came from banishment to the Shunning Cave, and he was terrified as to what his teacher had in store.

"Shut up," Mr. Mufflin snapped, shoving the boy down to a rocky clearing. Fanboy sat shocked and shivered in the cold cave air while a single tear trailed down his face. He knew now for sure that he was in danger.

Mr. Mufflin began to search for a duffel bag, which he had stashed behind a nearby stalagmite. With a great heave, he pulled it from its hiding place and lugged it to rest in front of his student. "One more word out of you," he warned, "and I'll clean your clock." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Fanboy nodded and clamped both hands over his mouth. Whatever was going to happen, he couldn't make it worse by talking, thereby fueling his teacher's temper.

From the bag, Mr. Mufflin pulled out thin ropes. Fanboy swallowed hard at the sight of them and flinched when Mufflin grabbed the top of his head. Before he could protest, his teacher spun him like a top, allowing the rope to catch a groove and tangle itself until he immobilized Fanboy in a cocoon.

Satisfied that the binding was tight, Mr. Mufflin let the Fanboy fall on his side and continue to weep. Instead of feeling guilt or compassion, he was suspicious of those sobs. Was Fanboy using a tactic to encourage him to be more mindful? To let him go? To be kind? Not a chance.

Taking precautions, the man applied two layers of Heavy-Duty duct tape over Fanboy's mouth. Cocooned and mute, the boy shook with terror, his pupils darting wildly, and a trickle of snot running down his face.

Mr. Mufflin leaned down and stared deep into the quivering emerald eyes, the good one's pupil contracting. "If you scream, that's it," he solemnly affirmed. "There's no such thing as a fourth strike. Understand?"

Fanboy nodded as best as he could, stifling a sob.

The first thing that Mr. Mufflin did was to remove Fanboy's mask and gloves and shoes. That alone crushed the poor kid's soul like a grape. His secret identity was everything to him, and to have that taken away like nothing was awful. To save face (no pun intended), he tried to lower his head, but that caused the rope around his neck to pull.

"I glued glass shards to the floor just in case you try to run off," Mr. Mufflin went on despite the humiliation he'd just caused his poor student. "It's all around us." He gestured to the small band of clear rocky ground that they were sitting in. Fanboy's heart thudded deep behind his ribcage. Mr. Mufflin had been planning this for days it seemed, if not longer! "It won't hurt me," he added. "I have plates at the bottom of my shoes."

With that, he tossed the shoes, gloves, and mask into the darkness. Fanboy's exposed face went deep red, and his trembling hands, which hadn't touched anything but the fabric inside his gloves for years, were soft, fragile, and pale.

Keen to get started, Mr. Mufflin drew a thick, metal yardstick from his bag. He tossed it from and to hand and waved it hypnotically in front of Fanboy, who watched nervously.

"I remember the old days," the man sighed in remembrance. "When I was a boy, if I ever broke the rules, I was whipped with one of these ." He gently waved it in front of the boy's face, his blood-shot emerald eyes following it. "My professor was onto something because I never misbehaved after that."

Then, without warning, Mufflin whipped Fanboy's face with it. The strike was so hard that it propelled the boy back onto the floor of broken glass, echoing the crunching sound throughout the darkness. He'd just managed to arch his body to protect the back of his head. Fanboy trembled in pain. "MMPH!"

Mr. Mufflin dragged him back to the circle by his ankle and whipped him again, much harder this time. …And again. …And again. …And again. The yardstick dug into Fanboy's flesh. The glass clung to his skin and left tiny cuts.

The strikes to the forehead were the most damaging because it was thinly-veiled bone against metal. The amount of force each attack produced caused Fanboy's brain to rattle. Forthwith, the yardstick grew wet with blood. Mr. Mufflin sniffed, unaffected.

Fanboy moaned brokenly.

Mr. Mufflin gripped his chin, wetting his hand with blood in the process and jerking his head to face him. "Are you going to talk?" The child shook his head, confused. "Mmph?"

"ARE YOU GOING TO TALK?!" Mr. Mufflin shouted.

The young male recoiled and shook his head, his tears mixing with his blood. "Good." The man didn't smile, just noncommittally nodded.

He yanked the duct tape away from Fanboy's mouth, causing the boy to flinch. The teacher observed. Fanboy sniffed, wanting nothing more than to escape this awful man, but he kept his mouth shut as instructed. "Have you learned your lesson about talking out of turn?"

Fanboy shakily bobbed his injured head.

"Good. You should never talk in class unless I call on you. Understand?" Mr. Mufflin asked. Fanboy nodded once more and timidly raised his ungloved hand, at least, as far as it could go tied up. Mr. Mufflin nodded his permission.

Fanboy took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt so scared and helpless, but he had to be brave for Chum Chum. "M-Mr. Mufflin?" He whispered.

"Yes?"

Fanboy shut his eyes once more as his head throbbed in pain. He let out a small sob. "I-I'm s-scared."

A pause. The super-fan prayed that whatever compassion left in the teacher's heart would come to his rescue. Unfortunately, his sad, broken face did nothing to move the man. His face remained as stone-cold impassive as his monotoned gravel of a voice.

"As expected. You aren't supposed to enjoy punishment. You're supposed to face it head-on and take it like a grown-up."

Fanboy's heart dropped, and he burst into tears. "Please! I-I wanna go home."

At that, Mr. Mufflin felt a spurt of ascendency. He'd felt so worthless when Fanboy won control of his classroom day after day, but now Fanboy ought to be as pathetic—not strong at all, just a weak, defenseless child—in Mr. Mufflin's classroom as he was here.

"Stand," the teacher ordered. Fanboy's eyes nearly doubled in size.

"NO!" he cried, wriggling his body to move away. "Please! Let me go!"

"Hush," Mr. Mufflin ordered, carelessly unraveling the cocoon until Fanboy was weak but loose. "Stand," he repeated. The child buried his beaten face in his knees. "Do you want another thrashing?"

Fanboy's shoulders shook. "Nuh-uh" was his vulnerable reply.

"Then, do what I tell you."

It took a while, but Hank managed to get Fanboy to his feet.

"Be still," he ordered. Shivering in the cave air, Fanboy cried and pleaded with his teacher, but fell silent after a warning growl. He had never been so scared in his life. He covered his exposed face with his ungloved hands. "Hands at your sides."

Fanboy blinked back tears as he obeyed, clenching his fists at his sides. Mr. Mufflin circled him with that same yardstick in his hand, eyeing up the boy like a training dummy, looking for the softest part to hit.

Then it began. Hank struck Fanboy's body, causing him to double over in pain.

"…GAHH!" Fanboy gasped at the pain of the first lash. "S-Stop!" he pleaded.

Mr. Mufflin didn't heed the cry for mercy, cruelly whipping Fanboy's shoulder blades, stomach, collar bone, the back of his thighs, and even his face, leaving long, bloody dents trailing over his body beneath his clothes.

Shocked, Fanboy collapsed face-down on the Shunning Cave's rocky surface, and Mr. Mufflin continued to beat him.

"S-Stop," he moaned, almost inaudibly.

Deep, angry slashes now covered Fanboy from head to toe, but Hank was careful about hitting places where the child's costume wouldn't cover up the evidence: his forearms and the lower half of his face. Everywhere else, bit the brute force of his hatred.

Fanboy had never felt this helpless. He curled up into a little ball even though moving sent waves of agony through his system.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Mufflin finally stopped. He leaned down to the boy's shivering form. "Now you know what it feels like to lose control," he spat, "to be humiliated, insulted, and treated like dirt."

Fanboy continued to moan in pain.

None of this made any sense! His teacher was an "annoying old, fuddy-duddy," as Kyle would elegantly put it. Mr. Mufflin was a gloomy and sensible man who never laid a hand on anyone. This monster hurting him was not the same man. It just couldn't be.

Mr. Mufflin yanked the boy to a sitting position and situated the ropes around his ankles.

He fished around in the duffel bag and pulled out a folder. Inside were multiple pieces of paper, some new and neat, others wrinkled with age. Assignments? He tossed them all to Fanboy.

"Read them," he ordered. Fanboy was confused, but he obeyed.

A glance revealed that- Oh. These were not assignments. These were hateful, mean letters written by each of the students, and they were all addressed to him. During the year, Fanboy was flattered to be on the receiving end of notes, but Mr. Mufflin always intercepted before Fanboy could read them. Here they all were, gathered in this folder like sick memorabilia. There were a couple of long, vulgar, and rife with Francine's hatred. From Kyle: an elegant scroll with perfect calligraphy detailing everything he hated about Fanboy. The rest of the notes were scrappy messes from the rest of the boys and cute little sticky notes from the rest of the girls.

Fanboy's stomach churned. It was too much. With a small defeated sigh, he gently set the folder down and pushed it towards Mr. Mufflin with his dirty foot.

"You'd better read them all," Mr. Mufflin warned, picking up the offending item. Fanboy stared at him, pleading with his eyes for a bit of compassion, but Mr. Mufflin's eyes were as dull as rocks. "All of them," he repeated, placing the folder back into the boy's arms.

Fanboy blinked back tears and slowly opened it. He decided to pretend to read them. Mr. Mufflin couldn't have any way of knowing unless he was a psychic.

"Psycho," Fanboy silently amended.

"I'm going to test you on this, so you'd better study up," Mr. Mufflin added. Fanboy flinched, cursing his misfortune. "If you answer one wrong, you're gonna do the walk of shame."

With a rare simper, he motioned to the floor covered with broken glass. Somewhere, on the mess were Fanboy's mask, gloves, and shoes. "You can't leave without your things, right?"

The implication that this would end gave Fanboy enough resolve to obey. Holding back his stinging tears, he began the arduous task. Mr. Mufflin watched the boy's reactions, amused when he physically crumbled, and whimpered at every insult.

Finally, Fanboy slammed the folder closed. "D-Done," he whimpered, holding it out to his emotionless teacher, who took the envelope and placed it back in his bag.

"Question time!" he announced, clapping his hands together. Fanboy jumped at attention. "Suck-Up's a man of fancy words," the man remarked.

Fanboy winced. "Y-You mean Kyle?" he asked, voice trembling.

"Yes. What did Kyle say to you that felt the most...offensive?"

"I-I…" He stared at the ground. "H-He told me to…"

Mr. Mufflin waited.

Fanboy let out a small moan of mental anguish. "…to k-kill myself…." he finished, staring hard into the darkness. He didn't want to know these things, let alone recite them like a school speech.

"What about Michael?"

Fanboy wished he could curl up and die. "T-Told me; I was annoying and gross."

"What about Duke?"

"Said I'm an...an annoying l-loser."

"Good," Mr. Mufflin approved. "Now, what did Nancy say?"

"…Ele-…Electric-…ch-ch…" Oh, he couldn't do this. His heart clenched, and more tears spilled from his eyes. He couldn't do it. He was going to break. "O-Okay, I get it," Fanboy croaked. "Y-You've made your point. They hate me. YOU hate me. You win. I give up."

"Win? Give up?" Mr. Mufflin repeated, genuinely surprised. "You think this is a game?" There was a moment of silence. "Listen. Following instructions is the most important rule that a student has to abide by. Studying, reading, asking questions, solving problems, completing tasks, all when I say so. If you follow the rules, no harm will come to you." He sighed. "Just now, you refused to answer, and now you're in trouble."

Fanboy shook with fear as the man removed the ropes from around his ankles and pulled him to his feet. "Take your punishment." Mr. Mufflin grunted. Fanboy yelped as he lost his balance, flailing his arms to support himself as he fell. The first things he felt were broken shards of glass stabbing into his body. He sprawled there in silent agony for a moment or two before letting out an ear-splitting screech.

Mr. Mufflin rolled his eyes in annoyance at the sound. He stepped over to the withering boy, the glass crunching under his metallic shoes, and slapped on three layers over Fanboy's open mouth. It did its job well, muffling the child's almost inaudible whimpers and moans of pain. He didn't move from the ground, too afraid of what pain might befall him.

Mr. Mufflin had no patience. He gripped the boy's arm and yanked him up. Fanboy screamed behind the tape as the shards stuck to him like leeches. After Hank gave his student a gentle push into the darkness, Fanboy began to wander through the gloom, his every step agonizing. He stopped for a moment, crouched, and tried to brush the shards away, but they wouldn't budge. They broke under his weight and sliced into his feet. He began to feel lightheaded, and he was uncertain if the cause was either blood loss or shock.

After a few minutes of unbearable pain, Fanboy finally felt a glimmer of hope. His mask! His gloves! His shoes!

"I can escape now!" he thought excitedly. He quickly put them on. It hurt more than anything he'd ever felt, but he didn't care. Walking fast, a little sliver of light grew in the distance: the exit.

"Purple Kid…" Mufflin whispered from behind, his callused hand gripping his shoulder. Fanboy froze in fear as he felt a sharp jab. Was it the yardstick? A shard of glass? A knife? "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Mmph…"

Mr. Mufflin yanked the duct tape from Fanboy's mouth and gripped his chin, turning it to face him. "Y-Ye-Yes!" Fanboy croaked faintly. "I-I have!"

Mr. Mufflin stared at him, suspicious. "You're not saying that just to save yourself?" He leaned closer until the boy could feel his teacher's breath on his face. In the darkness, he could just make out the hazy outline.

Fanboy gasped. "No! I'll be good! I'll be good! I promise!" The thought of the man torturing him further was too much to bear.

"Will you speak in my class?" he repeated when the child did not answer immediately.

"N-No! No! I won't!" Fanboy cried, snot trickling down his face.

"Unless?"

"U-Unless, you call on me!"

"Good!" Mr. Mufflin nodded. "Will you humiliate me in front of your classmates?" He tightened his grip on the boy's arms and moved so close to Fanboy's face that their noses were touching.

Fanboy felt lightheaded. "N-No," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry…" He began to breathe slowly, his aching chest heaving as the pain worsened, trauma staining his mind.

"Good," Mr. Mufflin repeated, and then he asked, "Will you follow my rules?"

Fanboy was beginning to hyperventilate. "…Y-YES!"

"Every last one?"

"YES! YES! YES!" The boy choked on his saliva. "P-Please, I'll do… e-e-everything y-you say!" he gasped. "J-J-Just…"

Mr. Mufflin grimaced.

Fanboy was starting to lose consciousness. "P-Please… let…let me go... H-H..." He trailed, eyes fluttering, and jaw going slack. It wasn't long before he slipped away and fainted in Mr. Mufflin's arms.

There in the dark, the teacher decided, finally, that that was enough. Fanboy had convinced him that he'd finally learned his lesson and would be as good as gold from now on.

With a slight heave, he gathered the young male up in his arms and carried him out of the Shunning Cave, squinting at the classroom's fluorescent lights. He picked up his duffel bag on the way out and began to tend to Fanboy's wounds as best as he could once he reached his desk. He laid Fanboy on the surface of the said desk and rolled up the child's sleeves, which caused him to rouse.

The super-fan let out small whimpers and abrupt shrieks as the man poured rubbing alcohol over the bloody, multiple, thin scratches the yardstick and the broken shards of glass had sliced into his flesh. He wrapped light gauze around the deepest cuts, on his shoulder blades, thighs, and collarbone-all this he applied under Fanboy's costume before tugging it back into place.

After Mr. Mufflin wiped all the blood away, he leaned over the boy with a menacing stare on his hard-set face. Fanboy shivered. "I'm going to let you go now."

A wave of relief. Fanboy wasn't going to die, and that's all that mattered.

"This is just between us, understand? It was all to modify your behavior to make you a good student. I'm proud of you for finishing."

Fanboy swallowed thickly. Proud? His mind was too addled to process that.

"I think it goes without saying that if you tell anybody about this, I will punish you AND Talking-Raccoon. You don't want that, don't you?"

Fanboy shook his head rapidly.

"All you need to do is listen, keep quiet, and follow my rules. Do those things, and we will consider this a win."

"O-Okay," Fanboy answered softly, averting his eyes from the authoritative man. "I-I'll be good."

Mr. Mufflin finally allowed himself a small smile, content with Purple Kid's answer.

**Thanks for reading, everyone! If you made it this far, you are a real trooper. This chapter was NOT for the faint of heart**


	2. A Happier End

Fanboy trembled as he limped out of the classroom, stabs of pain slicing through his soles regardless of how cautiously he balanced his weight. Closing the door behind him, he felt his body twitching from shock and pain. He stared down at himself. Carefully veiled beneath his thin spandex costume dozens of cuts, welts, and gashes. In his hands was every psychologically-scarring note: Mr. Mufflin's parting gifts. 

Fanboy left them on the floor to be swept up by the janitor. There was no way he was going to keep the notes, and Mr. Mufflin hadn't disallowed him from tossing them.

His stomach churned as he dropped the notes, his tears stinging the tiny, accidental exposed cut on his reddened cheek. He quickly wiped it away and found the nearest trashcan to vomit.

After Fanboy finished heaving, he trudged through the deserted halls toward the exit. Desperate to contain his sobs, he bit his bottom lip and wrapped his arms around his torso for security. This proved too painful, however. The added pressure simply caused some of the cuts to reopen. Microscopic blood droplets spotted the fabric, but luckily, nobody would be able to find them unless they were inches away.

Everything stung so bad. Fanboy's gut screamed at him to tell someone, anyone what had happened. Before he could consider the idea, Mr. Mufflin's issued threat clouded his judgment.

"No," he whispered. "I'm not telling. I-I won't!" He twiddled his fingers. "I mean, Chum Chum and I made a club so secret, even we didn't know about it!" He perked, gaining confidence. "If we can keep secrets, I can keep this one easily!"

Behind him down the hall, Mr. Mufflin opened the door. Paranoid, Fanboy paused and looked over his shoulder, staring down the dark hallway. Was Mr. Mufflin going to drag him back to the Shunning Cave? Probably not, but Fanboy bolted towards the exit nevertheless, ignoring his injured feet. He lifted his head and shifted his aching muscles. He needed to be ready for when Chum Chum saw him.

With a great heave, he slammed the wooden double-doors open and leaped outside in the bright sunlight. He was out and away from Mr. Mufflin, yet, he didn't feel free.

"Fanboy!" Chum Chum's excited voice called out from the bottom of the steps where he'd been waiting expectantly. "There you are!" He jumped up and took the older boy's hand in his own, unknowingly sending jolts of pain through his arm. Fanboy grinned and swallowed the pain.

"H-Hey, Lil' Buddy." 

"I was beginning to think you'd never come back," Chum Chum joked. He noticed a small flicker in his friend's cheerful expression and immediately confronted it before he had a chance to speak. "What did Mr. Mufflin say?"

Fanboy's mind went haywire, and his body drew tight like a bowstring. _"Come on, Fanboy, think! Use your head!"_

"Fanboy? Oh, Fanboy?" the little boy repeated, gently tugging on his friend's lean arm, provoking him to wince in pain anew. "Oops!" He squinted. "Is your arm okay?"

"Yepper!" the hero affirmed, a bit too loudly. "It's--Uh, he made me write one hundred sentences on the board, and uh, you know how sore these guns can get. Hehe," he fibbed. 

Chum Chum nodded, accepting the answer for the present. "No wonder it took you so long." 

Fanboy nodded and pretended to yawn. "I'm beat."

"Then let's get you home so you can relax."

Fanboy smiled. He could never say no to his sidekick. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Chum Chum skipped ahead off school property and down the road to where the Fanlair stood out over the horizon. The older boy tried to keep up but limped along like a leper. Staring hard at the ground, he fought not to break down and cry.

The hidden wounds that crawled all over his body were like thin snakes—red, bloody ones, and each of them stung like a thousand hornets. He closed his eyes, recalling his teacher's words.

"Chum Chum?" he called faintly.

"Yeah?" The younger boy called back, slowing down so that his hero could catch up. Usually, he would sprint alongside him. Odd.

"What's today's homework?" Fanboy queried, readjusting his violet cowl. He could feel his blood starting to leak out from under the satin. Instead of containing or soaking up the blood inside, it simply slid out. He began to sweat in nervousness and pretended to fan his face to cover up the evidence.

"Homework?" Chum Chum repeated, cocking his head like a confused puppy. "Just some Math."

"What page?"

"207, even numbers. Why?"

Fanboy set his gaze on the horizon and nodded determinedly. "I think I should give it a shot."

Chum Chum was puzzled. "But, you've never bothered with homework before."

"Eh." The superfan gave a noncommital shrug. "You know. It doesn't hurt to exercise the ol' noggin." He tapped his head for emphasis.

Chum Chum raised a brow, even more puzzled, but proud that his friend took the initiative. "In that case," he chirped, "I'll run ahead and make us some study snacks!"

Fanboy smiled, but as soon as Chum Chum ran off, he grimaced. He didn't want to think of the consequences that would befall them if Chum Chum found out, but it was all he _could_ think about. 

Fanboy shook his head and tried to calm down. All he needed to do was complete his...homework, a tiresome but well-worth-completing assignment to protect himself and his dearest friend.

...

In the downstairs of the Fanlair, Fanboy anxiously scanned his homework for the fifth time, ensuring that all the answers were correct. He couldn't risk getting one wrong. If Mr. Mufflin's expectations were higher than high, he needed to prepare. 

Sitting across from Fanboy, Chum Chum munched on a celery stick covered with peanut butter and raisins, cheerfully humming until he noticed his friend's tense demeanor.

"Do you need help?" he asked Fanboy, who was so deep in concentration that he flinched at the distraction. Chum Chum took careful note of that, as well as Fanboy's untouched plate of ants-on-a-log. "I can check your answers. I'm really good at fractions!"

Fanboy looked as if he was going to shoot down the offer, but upon reflection, he slid his paper over to Chum Chum to check.

Chum Chum accepted the parchment with a small smile and began to look it over.

Fanboy eyed the celery sticks and exhaled before tentatively plucking one up. "You've been awfully jumpy today," Chum Chum absentmindedly remarked. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Because Chum Chum's head was down, he missed Fanboy's momentary show of panic. "Jumpy?" he squeaked. "...Pshaw. I'm fine." 

"Oh, okay!" 

Fanboy watched Chum Chum worriedly and tried again to maintain his situation. "Just a little on edge, you know?"

Chum Chum smiled faintly to himself, knowing something was off. "Well, I'm always here to listen if something's bothering you," he reminded him. "You're always looking out for _me._ "

Fanboy slumped. He had the best friend in the world, all the more incentive to keep his secret safe. "Thanks, Buddy."

"You're welcome! Besides, I can read you very easily! There ain't a thing in this world you can hide from me."

Fanboy's grin tightened. Chum Chum finally lifted his head, surprised by the tense expression on his best friend's face. 

"Um... Is there something you're not telling me?" 

Fanboy glanced down at the paper, free of corrections. However, he didn't take the time to rejoice. "Oh, would you look at that?" he dismissed, staring down at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "It's time for this guy to preen!" Without so much as a "thank you," he hopped off his wooden stool and hobbled upstairs to the bathroom.

Chum Chum frowned. Fanboy was acting suspiciously withdrawn and curt. Writing sentences on the blackboard, while tedious, couldn't have taken _that_ much out of him. He was in a cheery mood that day, at least, until Mr. Mufflin forced him to stay after class. Chum Chum rubbed his chin and looked to the loft where his best friend had gone, a pit forming in his gut. 

Fanboy was being dishonest; that much was obvious, and it hurt Chum Chum, who kept no secrets from his best friend. He resolved to find out why Fanboy was acting like this right away, and if it meant breaching his comfort zone, then so be it.

After a few minutes of careful contemplation, Chum Chum raced upstairs. When he reached the loft, he quietly crept to the bathroom door where the shower water was running.

"Fanboy?" he called. The door was slightly ajar, allowing the sidekick to see and hear what was going on. Inside, Fanboy was mumbling to himself and undressing.

Chum Chum sighed. He didn't want to push Fanboy too hard, but he needed to ask if they could be transparent. A talk after his shower would suffice; he just needed to coax Fanboy into it.

Then, out of nowhere, a shriek in pain. Startled, Chum Chum burst in and sprinted over to his friend's tub. "Fanboy! Are you okay?" he cried, debating whether he should move the shower curtain aside.

Fanboy sat under the waterfall behind the curtain, biting his fist to keep in his strangled cries. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears sliding down his temporarily unmasked face. The warm water coming into contact with his wounds was the most painful thing he had felt. The cuts on the pads of his feet had reopened, and now the water was going red.

"I-I'm _fine_!" he gasped out, voice hoarse. "J-Just hit my head on the faucet!" He eyed the flimsy shower-curtain, anxiety shooting up his spine. His bruised knees knocked together with frantic impatience as he waited for his friend to leave.

For a moment, nothing, but then Chum Chum replied, "No, you didn't!" 

Another anxiety layer shot up Fanboy's spine, causing his toes to curl and legs to tense. "W-What?" he squeaked.

"I was right outside when you screamed. I would have heard the clunk," Chum Chum pointed out, resting a hand on the veil.

"I-It's not MY fault you don't clean your ears!" 

Chum Chum ignored the jab. "Please, Fanboy," he begged. "I'm worried, and I'm only trying to help."

"Oh, you wanna help?" Losing his nerve, Fanboy snapped, "Help by being a good friend and allowing me my privacy!"

The shower curtain's abrupt movement swinging to the side almost caused Fanboy to fall backward. He sputtered and attempted to cover himself with his hands as Chum Chum's face paled to a ghost white.

"Fanboy?" the younger boy whispered, clearly in shock as he stared at all of his friend's injuries--the deep, angry red slashes covering his body from head to toe, the deep black and blue bruises spotting his arms, lower legs, and the upper part of his face. "W-What happened?" He reached out to touch Fanboy's terrified face.

"NOTHING!" Fanboy exploded, slapping away Chum Chum's hand and scooting as far away as possible, causing the water to slosh around edges of the tub. When he managed to settle in the end, he covered his face and sobbed.

"N-Nothing ha-happened!" Anxiety and horror shot through him like bullets, destroying what little sanity was left clinging in his mind. It was over. Mr. Mufflin was going to kill them. They'd be tied up until their legs and arms went numb, and then they would be beaten senseless. Chum Chum would suffer alongside him just because Fanboy couldn't keep the secret.

Fanboy didn't even consider that Chum Chum may not have known who did it. He just hiccuped and cried.

The boy heard a splash and felt chubby arms wrap around his torso, and a face nuzzle his chest that first stung but then soothed his wounds. Gripping the edges of the bathtub to keep from slipping, his inhales and exhales far too short and quick, emerald eyes rolling to the back of his head. He was going to faint. Everything was dimming, and he could feel his body sinking.

"It's okay… It's okay…" Chum Chum soothed, tearing up while he gently patted his friend's face. "Who did this to you?" 

The superfan burst out another round of sobbing, yanking at his hair. Chum Chum was shocked, and he tried to grab his arms to keep him from hurting himself. "Fanboy! Stop it!"

"No!" Fanboy cried, scrambling but slipping to get back.

"Who did this!?"

“ _Don't ask me that!”_ Fanboy had never been so desperate and scared in his life. There was a long silence, save his whimpering. The water fell onto the children like a cascade. Terrified, Chum Chum slowly traced a finger over one of the cuts on his arm.

"D-Don't touch it!" Fanboy cried, yanking his arm away and cradling it. "It hurts!"

Chum Chum withdrew his hand. "You can't say these were by accident."

"I-I--...They were!"

The younger boy shook his head to show his friend he didn't believe him. Then in a much softer tone, he asked, "Why don't you want to tell me?"

Fanboy trembled. "I-I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Chum Chum settled his hand on the Fanboy's cheek, one of the few flawless areas on his body. "I'm your best friend! You trust me, right?"

Fanboy barked out a laugh. "O-Of course I trust you!"

"Then prove it."

"..."

"I know you're nervous, but--"

"I-I-I'm not nervous! I-I mean…" Fanboy's mind went hazy as Chum Chum's copper eyes bore into his emerald ones. He gently removed his sidekick's hand from his cheek and squeezed it. "Oh, geez...I… I can't tell you…" he whispered, wrapping his shaky arms around his best friend, pulling him close despite the stinging pain. Even now, at his most vulnerable, Fanboy felt the need to comfort his young friend.

"I love you, Lil' Buddy, and I'll do anything to protect you."

Chum Chum pulled back and stared at him dead in the eye. "Protect me?"

Fanboy froze and covered his face again, his fingernails digging into his temple wounds, which caused them to reopen and bleed.

"Please, stop," Chum Chum whispered, pulling Fanboy's hands away. Studying him warily, Chum Chum decided he'd pushed his poor friend far enough for now. "Thank you for protecting me, Fanboy. I'm so happy I have someone like you to protect me. You know _I'll_ do anything to protect _you_ too. That's what sidekicks are for."

Fanboy didn't answer, just sat trembling, and Chum Chum left him in peace.

...

Later, Fanboy scrambled into bed as soon as he finished his shower, refusing to talk to his best friend. When said best friend got back from brushing his teeth, he covered his face with a pillow and went motionless.

"Fanboy?" Chum Chum was young, but he understood the gravity of the situation at hand. The thought that Mr. Mufflin, their boring monotoned teacher, inflicted those injuries on his best friend was outlandish, but not impossible. Before he turned in for the night, Chum Chum asked one last question. "Are they still hurting?"

Fanboy didn't answer, turning and facing the wall. Chum Chum sighed and murmured his goodnight. Feeling guilty beyond measure, the poor child clutched at his blankets, mutely letting the tears he had fought to restrain fall free.

...

Walking-or limping-to school had never been so tense. What awaited Fanboy in class, he didn't know. He clenched his homework with both hands, determined to keep it safe.

Chum Chum walked beside him, still reflecting over the possible source of the terrible wounds. Fanboy's willpower to shut it out, never mention it, never address it, was strong, and that made it hard to guess sometimes.

Trying to keep the mood light, Chum Chum smiled. "I can't wait to play four-square at recess," he chirped as they entered their classroom. "How about you?" Fanboy grinned but went rigid as they approached Mr. Mufflin's desk. The man himself was sitting in his swivel chair, sipping black coffee and grading papers, looking relatively undisturbed.

 _'Turn in your homework and don't say a word!'_ Fanboy ordered himself as he stiffly approached. His emerald flickered upward to meet Mr. Mufflin's nonetheless. Elucidated through glimpse alone was a day's worth of inquiries.

"..."

The masked child gave a tiny nod, set the homework down, and then swiftly walked over to his desk in the back of the classroom, cringing when he saw the entrance to the Shunning Cave. Passing by his classmates, knowing what they'd written to him, was humiliating. He hugged himself. Chum Chum followed after turning in his homework, more suspicious than ever.

The remainder of the day was abnormally quiet.

Kyle, whose assigned seat was in front of Fanboy, noticed the change immediately. Pleasantly surprised, he turned around in his place to face the superfan. "Well, it's about time you've shaped up," he commented.

No answer. The Brit was baffled. Fanboy was usually eager to join a conversation.

"No chinwagging today, eh? Strep throat?" He teased.

Fanboy looked away, his normally fidgety hands folded docile in his lap. He couldn't look Kyle in the eyes, not after reading that note. The note Kyle had written ordered Fanboy to commit suicide. Sure, the letter hadn't been delivered to him until months later (Kyle might've changed his opinion in that time), but he had still written it regardless. Fanboy felt betrayed and bitter, unable to respond, thinking, _'How can you just pretend nothing’s wrong, Kyle? How can you look at me and pretend you care when you want me dead? Huh? For someone who doesn't like to play wizard, you sure know how to play me like a fiddle.'_

Kyle squinted. He was mightily impressed. "Huh. Keep it up, and Mr. Mufflin may give you a gold star." With no reaction from the other boy, he shrugged and twisted back around. He didn't want to jinx this. 

Chum Chum watched the one-sided exchange, more troubled than ever. He wouldn't receive so much as a sideways glance when he endeavored to communicate to his best friend via note or whisper. Fanboy was deliberately ignoring him.

"Fanboy?" he whispered out of the side of his mouth. "You need to tell me what's going on. I want to help! I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"Ahem. Is this something you want to share with the rest of the class?" Mr. Mufflin asked from the front, irritably tapping his yardstick against the board. Chum Chum clamped his mouth shut, shook his head, and eyed Fanboy apologetically. "Thank you. Now stay quiet."

Regularly, if Fanboy were on the receiving end of his teacher's scoldings, he would just giggle under his breath and take the wrath with ease, but now he was hunched over and paled with fright. Chum Chum diligently observed Mr. Mufflin, promptly gathering that this all had to do with him.

If he had committed a crime against his best friend, Chum Chum was going to trial until he found proof.

After a long night of homework and videogames, Chum Chum made sure Fanboy was fast asleep before tip-toeing out of bed and padding downstairs beneath the loft. Inhaling nervously, he approached the slumbering machine and tapped it twice.

"Dollarnator!" He whispered.

The cyborg, future Fanboy's creation, opened its eyes and yawned. "Wassup?" He greeted in his Austrian accent, a bit too loud for Chum Chum's taste.

"Shh!" He scolded, holding a finger to his lips. "Fanboy's still asleep."

"As should you," the robot countered. "Get back to bed."

Chum Chum shook his head. "Not now. I need your help."

"Aw, but I wanted to put in a tight twelve hours!" The robot complained. After a stern look from Chum Chum, he straightened at attention. "Fine. What do you need?"

"I need you to tap into the school's security camera feed."

Dollarnator raised a brow but obeyed, wiring in. "Got it. What are you looking for?"

Chum Chum swallowed hard. It was time to discover the truth. "Mr. Mufflin's class. Yesterday, 2:45 PM." That was about when the bell had rung for everyone to go home, when Mr. Mufflin had ordered him out of the room, leaving Fanboy alone with the man.

Dollarnator did just that, displaying the camera feed on his screen. Chum Chum's eyes widened. The fuzzy recording was smudged, only a wisp of light peaking at the upper left-hand corner.

"I-Is it glitched?" He gasped. "Or-?"

"The camera was operating normally," Dollarnator told him.

"Then something must've been blocking it! Make a scan."

"Scanning initiated," Dollarnator performed. "Three hours before 2:45 PM, a polyethylene coating, three layers of adhesive, heat resistant foil, and silver coloring thoroughly screened the lens. Analysis: duct tape."

The little boy's heart dropped. "We were outside at lunch when the tape... Scan for fingerprints and rewind the feed to 11:30 AM," he ordered. "I think I know who did this."

….

Fanboy had always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning for hours before finally dosing off in a light slumber. The last few days had stolen so much mental energy from him, and yet, he couldn't stay dormant for long. Not with all of these stressful thoughts buzzing around in his head like a swarm of bees. Blinking drowsily, he groaned and turned over on his stomach to shove his face into the pillow. Laying there, he picked up on the hushed voices of Dollarnator and Chum Chum from below the loft. He lifted his head, listening carefully.

 _'Night-Morning...?'_ He yawned, snuggling back under the covers. _'Sorry, fellas, but I'm going to pass. Tell Man-Arctica I said 'hi.''_ Just as he was about to drift off, his ears picked up on the sharp sound of static from under the loft. Then unidentifiable voices followed by muffled screaming and yelling. It went quiet. Then, he heard his little buddy start to cry.

"I knew it was Mr. Mufflin!" He heard Chum Chum sob, "I knew it!"

Fanboy's heart stopped, and his eyes popped open. ‘ _How? HOW?’_ his mind screamed as he sat up and clutched his blankets to his chest. His settling anxiety skyrocketed, and beads of sweat trailed down his forehead. Still, he said nothing and listened.

"I thought Fanboy took a tumble off a swing!" Dollarnator gasped. "That monster...! I'll terminate him myself!"

"Dollarnator!" Chum Chum shushed, flapping his hands. "You'll go to robot jail if you do that. We have the footage of him covering the camera AND the-the...audio feed from the Shunning Cave. These are the perfect evidence to give to the police. For Fanboy."

"I'm contacting Agent Johnson as we speak," Dollarnator affirmed, sending the message to the station. "Fanboy'll get justice."

Staggered by these new circumstances, Fanboy fell backward and stared at the ceiling, feeling light and heavy, cold and hot; a whole flurry of emotions was smashing into him—betrayal, fear, anger, panic, dread. Everyone was going to find out. Chum Chum and Dollarnator knew, but soon would Kyle, Yo, Lupe, Lenny...

His stomach churned, and he shuddered. They all hated him anyway. Why should it matter if they knew? They certainly wouldn't mind if he disappeared. All _he_ cared about was Chum Chum's safety.

Deep down, however, amid those negative emotions, there was a tiny hint of _relief_.

He hadn't kept the secret very well, but then, Nothing could get past Chum Chum. He should've known something like this was going to happen. He smiled a trembling smile and hooked an arm over his blotchy face. It was all genuinely ridiculous. The GHPD was great at doing their jobs, and with Agent Johnson at the helm, everything would turn out fine.

Perhaps Boog's bops could fly under the radar, but what Mr. Mufflin did was _not_ going unpunished. That was a fact.

Despite this newfound relief, his heart broke when he heard Chum Chum whimper down below. "H-He hurt Fanboy so badly. His screaming--I've never heard him like that. I-I never wanna hear it again."

Dollarnator sighed sympathetically and patted the little boy on the back. "I've scanned his wounds. They will heal in time. Fanboy is very lucky to have someone like you to look after him."

Chum Chum wiped his runny nose and gave a small sob. "I didn't save him, though. I could've just stayed there. Mr. Mufflin used me against him. I could-"

He paused, and then gasped, hope spreading all over his face. "I can go back in time and stop this from ever happening! That's it!" He hopped in place. "Dollarnator, we can just go back to the start of yesterday and keep 'past us' from going to class after lunch. That way, he won't be hurt at all!"

"You'll do that alone?"

"Duh! He shouldn't have to relive any of it."

Dollarnator regarded the little boy carefully. "Shouldn't you tell him about your plan before you decide?"

Chum Chum frowned. He hadn't thought about that. "Well," he started, "if _I_ were in Fanboy's shoes, _I'd_ understand. _I'd_ want him to do it." He said this aloud a few more times as if trying to convince that small part of him that objected to such a plan. "Yeah. That's what I would want if I were him."

"Scanning brain activity." The cyborg was skeptical. "You are projecting."

Chum Chum gaped, offended. "Who wouldn't--? Why would he object to this?"

A gentle tap on the shoulder sent Chum Chum into a tizzy. "GAH!" He spun, hands in the air like a guilty suspect. "Fanboy! You're awake!"

If his best friend had beheld the entire conversation, he was usually calm about it. "Pretty noisy down here, hm?" Fanboy teased. His tired, bloodshot eyes were gentle, and he didn't seem the least bit angry. He was wrapped up in his blanket like a cocoon and smiling tenderly. Chum Chum relaxed. "It's late. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Sheepish, Chum Chum blushed. "Sorry," he apologized, twiddling his thumbs. "We were just, um..."

"I know," Fanboy said. He looked at Dollarnator, who waved his hands defensively. "I know you found out what happened. That's not exactly what I wanted to happen, but-" His voice broke a bit on the last part, a clear sign of how fresh his pain was. "-I'm kinda happy I didn't have to tell you myself."

Chum Chum burst into tears and gave his best friend the gentlest hug he could muster. "Y-You should have," he whimpered, face now streaked with tears. "You should've. I would've kept you from going back and seeing him again."

Fanboy nestled the younger boy and soothingly stroked his hair. "I know," he confessed, eyeing the healing marks on his bare skin. "I know."

Their roles were back to normal: Fanboy, the pacifier, and Chum Chum the pacified. The younger one didn't like that. He drew away from Fanboy's grasp and clenched his fists determinedly.

"Dollarnator and I have a plan."

"I know what your plan is," Fanboy nodded. "It...It doesn't sound very safe, Buddy."

Chum Chum took a start, and Dollarnator backed off knowingly.

To turn down this plan was unthinkable for Chum Chum. "I-I don't understand," he mumbled, pressing a hand against his forehead in disbelief. "I'll do anything to help you, and you know I'm great at time-travel."

Fanboy admired how determined and selfless his little buddy was. "That's not what I meant, Dude. You're an awesome time traveler."

"Then, why can't I do this for you?"

Searching for the appropriate words, Fanboy spoke slowly and carefully. "If I don't get punished on March 5th, I will be on the 8th. Keeping me from him for one day won't save me in the long run. Sure, he won't be able to punish me then, but he'll want to, and he'll do it another time. And if not me, then someone else-maybe even you. His mind won't change with the past."

That gave Chum Chum something to think about. His brows slowly unfurled.

"Don't get me wrong, I wish we could turn back time, Buddy," Fanboy confessed, going rigid as tears bubbled in his eyes. "I wish yesterday had never happened. Everything right now just hurts so much, but adjusting the past...is not a risk I'm willing to take. I would never forgive myself if he hurt someone else in my stead." He stared pointedly at Chum Chum, who dropped his gaze. "Besides, if you have the evidence, we need to take advantage of it."

Now he understood.

"Are you sure?" he asked timidly. "That's a huge sacrifice. You're going to hafta stick with the pain."

"It won't be easy," Fanboy agreed, carefully kneeling to be at eye-level with his best friend. "But with your support, I think I can pull through eventually. Right here, right now, things will be okay, thanks to you." Fanboy gazed at his friend and beamed, his heart thudding. "I don't know what I would've done without you, Buddy. I'm sorry, I didn't tell you earlier."

Chum Chum shook his head. "Don't apologize," he cried. "It's not your fault. It never was."

That's when the worst expired, with the two children embracing in their water-tower terrace. The horrific incident was going to take a toll on Fanboy for many years. His physical wounds would scar over and heal, but he would need to have help with the trauma. There was going to be a trial, and they would have to take their stands and say their parts, provide evidence. There was going to be a sentence. There would be a new teacher. New allies. New enemies. New upsets. New adventures.

Fanboy squeezed Chum Chum tight, knowing he'd be there every step of the way.

_The End_


End file.
